


gold crescendo and silver muting

by Ghostigos



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: Established Relationship, Language of Flowers, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostigos/pseuds/Ghostigos
Summary: Where romantic gestures are made, and questions are asked, andclearlythis calls for an investigation.





	gold crescendo and silver muting

**Author's Note:**

> ( _there are light touches, scents, sighs, cadences that arise_ — you've forgotten, i think, but i was guided by your dream)
> 
> snufkin continues to be the trans gay autistic furry disaster rep we need
> 
> title is from 'if i believe' by e.e. cummings

It begins when you pluck a stray daisy off the blooming fields. You twist it in your paw some, admiring its simplicity, before turning without thought to stick it onto Snufkin's hat.

He doesn't notice since he's fishing, and he hasn't as many bites as yesterday. A mischievous tickle in your chest occurs and you immediately know what must be done.

As Snufkin is occupied, you pick off more and more daisies from the patch to stuff into the brim of his hat. Then, once you've had your fill of those, you move onto the pansies neighboring nearby. A wild violet calls for your attention also: you're quick to snatch it from the stem and entangle it near the tip of Snufkin's hat, so that it bobs in the breeze.

You admit you go a little overboard with the foothold you're provided; any blade of long onion grass or dandelion or dead leaf you stuff into the crown just because. Snufkin immediately catches onto your charade once you pile pebbles along his hem, and when he turns to look behind him the stones clatter to the floor around you. As you scutter away to avoid the pelting rocks, Snufkin looks at the mess you've made with a curious glance.

Embarrassed now, you scoot further away; some fallen pebbles pinch at your pads, and isn't _that_ just punishment enough. Your face is further colored.

"S-sorry."

When you peek back over, Snufkin has removed his hat to investigate your work. He tilts your canvas around meticulously, like it's fragile — and some flowers do fall, mind. Suddenly he turns to you and a warbled squeak escapes your mouth.

He puts his hat back on and you fall in love again as quickly as a snap of your fingers.

(You can't help being sappy, the tiny pink pansy you'd stuck on matches the color of his cheeks and it's _so cute._ )

You rejoin him again, tails brushing; he's resumed fishing with an unceasing grin on his lips. Pride swells your chest on seeing this.

"Do you like it?" you inquire, a bit hesitantly.

"Of course," Snufkin answers. He turns to nuzzle your nose a moment and you stifle _another_ flustered squeak. Retracting he wears a dreamy gaze, glittering with mischief. "How sweet, dove, that you saw these flowers and thought of me. But perhaps don't do that when my back is turned next time?"

You're an oozy mess when you stammer, "O-okay."

The fishing line bends with a bite and Snufkin's attention is quickly disbanded. Your eyes are still attracted to how lovely you've made his hat; you make a mental note that you should do this more often.

-

You're in the fields next time you gain a proper moment alone — it's been _weeks_ of Snufkin delaying his occasion until _finally_ he allows you to decorate his outfit again.

You've promised to perform your artistic talents under his eye and it'd been difficult to maintain that promise at times. You've discovered _many_ new urges to pluck little buds into Snufkin's crown —and although you doubt he'd mind as much as an entire entourage of flowers, you don't know if you could stop yourself then; much too risky. He just looked exceptionally dashing last time...

It's nearing autumn now; the leaves fall to the browning grass as you work under a massive pine — Snufkin has seated himself on his reserved placement (read: your lap) and you've surrounded your sides with pre-collected flowers, just for this occasion. Truly, a hopeless romantic's dream — the accompanying breeze even has your partner nuzzling a bit into your fur.

As you work, you feel Snufkin's breath even out on your torso. He purrs slightly, even in dreams, as you knit some straw into the hat's crown to provide a better base for knitting in the plants.

(The first time, you'd been disappointed when Snufkin had discarded the bouquet. Of course you knew the flowers wouldn't last, but you'd hoped he'd be more sentimental about the gesture. Later on you reasoned to yourself that the flowers hadn't been secured well, and like hell will that happen again.)

You tie in cyclamens first. And persimmons, and mint. Primrose and clover. Juniper and periwinkle. You'd even snagged a short pine branch to top off the display and perch it proudly in conclusion. The pinecone was an addition you couldn't cram into the product without waking your partner, so this is a good compromise.

With a triumphant sigh, you lean back into the tree and admire your work. Snufkin eventually rouses, groggy and asking to see your work. You assist him in tipping off his cap gently, and you find that your paws are shaking meanwhile.

Like last time, Snufkin looks over your pickings with a keen eye and harbored intrigue. You don't realize how fast your pulse is until the minutes tick past and you're wallowing in a steady panic, the longer Snufkin is quiet.

But then he snickers. "This batch is certainly more...colorful than the last," he comments with a grin. "I suspect you had more fun with this one?"

"Uh...oh! N-no, it's, um..." You have to look away when you explain, "Mamma has been teaching me some plant symbolism, and I...I picked accordingly."

"Ah." He points to the primrose at random. "So this one, then? What does it mean?"

"Erm," _Damn it he picked a really bad one_ "I...'true love', I think???"

You watch your partner's expression drastically shift from playful to just…pure shock. And you watch it mellow into such a deep sincerity that you're taken aback by his stare; it's infrequent to see Snufkin grow so somber so quickly. Heat is quick to bloom from his face to his neck.

Then, silent, Snufkin places his hat on. He shimmies it down so his eyes are hidden beneath the brim, and only an inwardly-bitten cheek is visible.

"...Snufkin?"

"A moment, please."

Given his airy response, you allow him the space he requests. Eventually you both calm down from your internal blusterings and melt into a tranquility again, as you tend to do. Snufkin settles himself beside you, then plots his head on your shoulder to where some of the plants tickle the side of your face. His hands are knitted together in his lap.

Finally, he says, "Thank you, Moomintroll. You're always so considerate to me."

Your body warms. You list sideways to him, but he's still hidden beneath the cap. Based on the way that his cheeks are dimpled and raised, it seems that he's smiling.

-

Snufkin becomes much more lenient to your advances afterwards. He offers his hat as a blank canvas for you to color affections with and of _course_ you're enthusiastic. The problem is that you can't realistically spend hours tucked away braiding flowers in each other's hair — not on a daily basis anyway. And since Snufkin is so active you worry that your gifts may be inadvertently destroyed, as you suspect the first batch was.

So to compensate, if you find any stray flower you ask that you may tie it to his hat, and he lets you. It's escalated so that you'll donate feathers or pretty twigs. Anything that sticks out to you, it's immediately donated to Snufkin.

You do this in company especially — your partner preens like a cat in sunlight when the others notice your work. Your parents are very complimentary, Little My fakes a gag, and Snorkmaiden gushes at the décor like a true florist.

Sniff, meanwhile, is much more confused.

"It's just sort of a daily present," you explain to him one day, while you're both by the creek collecting rocks. "It's like, holding out your hands and saying, 'Hello! This is a piece of my heart and I'd be honored for you to have it!'"

Sniff looks up from where he's rubbing two stones together — he mentioned something about pressing coal into diamonds or gold or something — and casts you a brow. "It's just a hat, though."

"Yes, but I'm decorating it with nice flowers and alike."

"Okaay...so does he keep the flowers?"

It's your turn to look baffled. "What?"

Sniff has already turned back to his work. "I mean, does he keep the flowers or something? You said 'gifts' so I assumed he, I don't know, ate them or something. Kept them as keepsakes, maybe."

"I supposed that they just fall off."

He sounds gawked. "You don't know what he _does_ with them??"

"I...not really, no." You frown a little, feeling slightly pained at the thought. You truly hadn't considered it like that: Snufkin outright disregarding tokens of your love like that. At least, according to this new narrative.

Sniff makes a displeased huff and straightens himself back up to give you another incredulous look. "I thought you'd at least be _curious_! I know _I_ certainly would be."

"I am!" you protest, ignoring how childish and pitched your tone sounds. “I’m just— giving him _space._ "

“And does that work?”

“I…” You falter, then droop to the shoreline, your arms piled with stones. “It works for him, so it works for me.”

It sounds false, even to your own ears. Sniff makes a weird noise you don’t wish to implore the meaning of, and you find the rest of the afternoon is riddled with you internally tossing with questions. 

-

Snorkmaiden gives you a mild look over from where she’s braiding a flower crown for you. You’ve caught her up to speed on your quarrel — turns out simmering alone with your thoughts has only left you more tetchy about the afternoon with Sniff.

When you finish explaining, you ask, “Well?”

She lowers a brow and gives you another stare. “Well, what?”

You huff. “ _Well,_ I’d appreciate your input on what I should do here!”

“Aside from talking to Snufkin about how you feel?” Snorkmaiden finishes tying the wildflowers’ stems together and instead focuses on that for a moment. She plucks away some stray leaves clinging to the crown as she works. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Moomintroll. If you’re so desperate to know what he does with the flowers then just—”

“I’ve already asked!” You sigh, and flop down on the meadow’s grassy bed, folding your paws on your lap and giving the sky a worried glance. “He just told me that it’s a secret and gave me a sort of wink — or maybe it was a blink, I couldn’t tell, his hat was covering a good portion of his face.”

Snorkmaiden gestures you closer to test the length of your customized flower crown. You obediently do so. “It could be a surprise,” she says. “Like...a double-gift, or something. He sounds like he doesn’t want to be pressed further.”

You sigh again, gustily. “Yes, but I’d like to _know!_ And now I know that _he_ knows the flowers are likely to fall off, so that can’t be it… _Or_ he’s guilty for having them fall off in the first place, and wants me to believe he hasn’t discarded them!”

“You’re making me dizzy, Moomintroll,” Snorkmaiden interrupts your spiral. “I doubt the truth is as complicated as you’re making it. Honestly you’re just being overdramatic.”

“Pot meets kettle.”

You receive a sharp nudge for that one, but her mouth poorly suppresses a smirk. She tightens the crown around your ears with little remorse to you wincing at its grip. “Next time only expect nettles and geraniums stuck in your fur if you keep whining about your love problems!”

“No fair!” You falsely pout as she tightens up the bluebells (they compliment your eyes) and then you catch of whiff of something lovely yet sharp — a recollection of cherry blossoms from earlier this season. You inhale sharper to soak in the scent, and find that it’s emanating from your friend. It’s peachy and wonderful, like a soft clear day in summer, and you think that it suits her!

“Floren, you smell really nice!” you tell her. “Is this your new perfume?”

Snorkmaiden stops upon hearing her name, and she breaks away to give you a moved expression. Her pelt turns a flustered shade of pink.

“Aww, thank you!” she gushes. “Yes, Snork has been helping me with my homemade remedies. I still have some leftovers at the house if you’d like me to teach you sometime!”

“I’ll think about it,” you murmur. In truth your mind travels from the luscious fields you’re settled in and farther out to where Snufkin’s campsite is sheltered beneath the brush. And as Snorkmaiden gets started on her own crown, you get to pondering.

-

Curiosity is what drives you to sneak into Snufkin’s campsite, after a course of three agonizing weeks contemplating your friends’ theories. You know that you’re bordering onto delicate territory — Snufkin does not like his stuff scuffled about - but maybe if you’re calm, and gentle, and meticulous to cover your tracks, perhaps he won’t be too offended should he find out??

Yes, of course you’re bargaining with yourself out of guilt, but somehow your paws don’t cease rummaging through your partner’s items, even when the shame factor rushes to the fore. You know you’re being intrusive, but…isn’t this your right? Those flowers were yours to give and you have every right to know what Snufkin has done with them!

You flip his backpack over and the contents spew to the floor with a few hefty shakes — mostly knickknacks that clink to the floor with zero weight to them, so they’re probably not harboring any big secrets.

No such luck there…

Hurriedly you move over to Snufkin’s sleeping bag and pillow, ripping the placement of everything to shreds even though you know your partner will be furious but you’re _desperate_ now, you _have_ to know! Was Sniff right? Did Snufkin just…did he toss them out…?

Your paw sweeping across the earth in a frenzy is blocked by a gigantic block-like object, catching your thumb and having you yelp a little in shock. _What on earth?_

You tear away the pillow and find a loose-leaf book sheltered underneath. It’s a hard cover, with a very bland exterior — no title or picture on the front, likely not one of your parent’s reads, or even a library’s. A lightbulb flashes over your head.

Guilt long forgotten, you perch the book into your lap and eagerly flip the page:

You’re greeted with wild violets and pansies, staining the ancient paper with bleeding colors, their petals withered and pressing into the books like a novice placed them there; you see wisps of tape delicately sticking to the edges of the flowers. Beside them are dates, in familiar cursive.

You turn the page and find that the book just gets more and more clotted with these little treasures, they paint each page with dampened, wilted hues, each with their own labels directing the reader to when and how each were retrieved. You see your name a lot nestled in between each description - in some, the ‘i’ is written with a heart atop it. Some stray hearts cover the margins as well.

Your cheeks are heated pink as you continue, a smile curling the edges of your lips. This feels…intimate, but you drink in this moment because you truly don’t know when it’ll end: this serenity of loosening a jar Snufkin keeps hidden and the gleaming, wonderful contents spilling overboard.

 _So he_ did _keep them…_

But why not tell you about this?

From behind, the tent’s entrance is unzipped and you whip around in a fright, dropping the book like heated coals.

Snufkin pauses when he drinks in the disarray of his camp, and you’re frozen in place as his eyes finally draw to your own like magnets. You wish for the earth to swallow you whole more than you’ve ever wished for anything in your life.

Then his eyes flits downwards to the book.

Swallowing, you venture, “Snufkin…”

His hat is lowered over his eyes and you can’t pinpoint a single emotion he may be conveying through it — or if he’s banished emotion entirely from his gaze, which is often _much_ worse.

He scrambles over to where the book is splayed on the floor, making an effort not to have his body brush against your own. You valiantly shuffle away as he picks up the book, _painfully_ slow. His back is to you, his shoulder hunched over the item.

You try again: “Snuf—”

“Moomintroll.” His voice is hollow and resonates through the messed room. “I would like to be left alone now.”

Your heart sinks. “I’m so sorr—”

“Moomintroll.” It’s sharper now; he hasn’t moved an inch. “Please leave me be. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

Like a scolded child, you slip out of the tent, chest braying with shame and anguish you have absolutely no right to express. 

-

“So, you just decorated his hat and he was fine with it?” Little My asks, bouncing on the foot of your bed (with her dirtied shoes _still_ on, sigh). “That’s a pretty big deal. One time I plucked a mere _clover_ into his hair and he got all ruffled about it.”

You knit your paws together. “He was fine with it, yeah. Although I’m not sure he’ll feel the same way now.”

“It’s probably just a private thing,” Little My shrugs. “Snufkin may be all ‘free spirit tied to nothing’ on the outside but that’s just a big fat act. Every time I go through his belongings without permission suddenly I’ve committed a terrible crime. Puh.”

The guilt creeps back in like a pounding headache; it’s been two days and no word from your partner, so for now you’re stuck sleeping on the metaphorical couch until summoned or otherwise. Apologies are wasted breath if the someone is unprecedented to hear it, and will not return from fishing or hikes at reasonable hours to encounter you.

Little My pauses her incessant rumpus to ponder a moment. Then, with a malicious grin, she suggests, “Suppose we were to tie a dead animal to his hat and he wouldn’t notice—”

“We are absolutely not doing that.”

“Well, maybe not _me._ But say that I owe you a favor—”

You groan. “You’re the _worst_ to air grievances to.”

“That’s the idea,” she says, then chuckles.

-

It’s five days after and Snufkin finally joins you on the riverside. He crosses his arms on his knees and looks to the rippling water, tail occasionally whipping about behind him.

A moment passes. You watch the fish race upstream, biding your time.

Finally, you reveal the bouquet of snapdragon and hyacinths you’d kept sheltered from your lover’s sight, resting on your opposite paw. He considers them a moment as you hold them out, then takes them with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry,” you say, sincerely and as steadily as possible. “I truly am. I invaded your privacy for selfish reasons, You trusted me and I - I stomped all over it. Quite literally. I’m just— I hope you can forgive me.”

Snufkin doesn’t reply right away, tracing over a petal with the rim of his claw-tips. You’re crossing your fingers as you hope to see a flicker of gentleness in his hooded gaze.

Then he looks to you and he seems — tired, actually. “I was keeping that book as a personal memento,” he admits, voice quiet — it nearly blurs into the splashes of the river. “For my travels, as a sort of remembrance to your kindness. I had no intentions of sharing it — and if I had, it would’ve been as an anniversary gift.”

As he speaks, claws rake sharply at your chest, cracking open a wound like his hurt is your own. Further it solidifies how you’ve crushed a precious secret that you’d been trusted with, whether you knew of it or not.

You sigh and look away in shame. “I know this apology isn’t enough, nor the flowers—”

“Oh, come now.” A hand finds your shoulder and forces you to shift back to Snufkin’s direction. “Let’s not be like that. We’ve promised to talk and understand each other, and that’s exactly what I expect to do now. You’ve hurt my feelings, yes, but you’re sorry about it. And you’re forgiven.”

Still. “It doesn’t change—”

“It doesn’t, but I don’t expect you to fix it,” he intercepts, returning his hold to the flowers he investigates in his lap. “And if you could I believe that you would immediately.”

You turn back to the shoreline. “I suppose I just wanted to know…I wanted to see if my love to you was valued or not.”

Snufkin glances over, looking a bit sad. “You had doubts?”

“No!” You scramble over yourself in alarm. “N-no, I mean…I just supposed that, maybe, you didn’t…”

“That I didn’t appreciate your gestures,” he finishes. “Or consider them in the same way you did.”

It _sounds_ bad when he says it, but you’re defeated because when he puts it in such blatant terms you decide that really was — _is_ — the root of this circumstance. You wordlessly clamp your lips shut and feel yourself sink like a rock in water.

“I don’t expect you to understand me,” Snufkin says after a moment. “I just ask that you respect myself and my privacy.”

Spinning a blade of grass between your claws, you reply, “Yes, but you ought to respect my curiosity then. I only want to know more about you because I care so _deeply_ about you.” A knot unfurls when you admit this —when you give recognition to these sensations that have been at war in your body for some time.

It’s a while before either of you speak again, the air molasses in your lungs. When Snufkin does break the quiet, he’s already hobbling to his feet. “If we’re going to settle this, then we’re going to do it together,” he claims, and extends a hand towards you. “Come.”

You take the gesture and he pulls you up towards him with a grunt. In his other paw, you see the flowers grasped tightly in his hold.

He leads you out of the grove and you follow.

-

Snorkmaiden flips through the pages with a heavy interest, stopping occasionally to give nods here and there; you settle your head on her shoulder, absently re-reading paragraphs Snufkin had written in the book about the flowers’ meanings and such.

Snufkin had forced the book into her hands with a brief synopsis about it before rushing off elsewhere; you can see him in the distant fields, picking at something. Sniff naps amongst the cotton and onion grass not too far away, having found the scrapbook to be not as luxurious a secret as he’d hoped. Apparently this is your first stop; Snufkin had mentioned presenting it to other members of the valley next: a declaration.

Finally, you reach the end, and Snorkmaiden slaps the book shut before handing it back to you.

“A careful romantic, that Snufkin!” she comments with a pleased look. “I honestly didn’t expect him to hold onto these.”

“You thought he threw them away too?” you ask. She nods.

“Oh yes, of all things I’d describe Snufkin as, ‘sentimental’ is not a word I’d use.” She moves away and you release your weight off her shoulder. She reaches for her bag, containing a couple of accessories, and paws through it before she pulls out a vial and brush. “And I still don’t think he is — he certainly has exceptions and you’re one of them.”

Touched, you turn away with pink dusting your cheeks. “I wish I could return the favor — as an apology for intruding, I guess.”

“You know him best,” Snorkmaiden says, brushing her bangs. “I’m sure whatever you decide to do he’ll love it.”

“Perhaps.” You see Snufkin approaching you both with a handful of something — the sunlight sharpens the shadows on his silhouette and you can’t catch his face. “I feel like I never know what he wants or what he’s thinking. I feel like I’m making it up as I go — I had no clue he’d even _like_ me touching his hat!”

Your friend gives you a side-glance, still stroking her hair, before she gives you a small smile. “Moomintroll, you hare. No matter how often you mess up with boundaries, Snufkin will know you love him. I should know: you messed up with me countless times and _I_ still love you!”

“Hey!” you protest, even though you’re laughing, and she laughs too.

When Snufkin finally reaches you, he kneels down to hand you the bundle he’d been carrying: a cruddy pair of daffodils, half-dead yarrow and olive branches scattered amongst the debris. It’s cluttered and messy, like he’s scooped it out of a hole, and in another context you’d mistake it for just a clump of dead things — but he looks very nervous as he hands it off, biting his lip.

You recall Mamma’s books, analyzing each plant presented, and you realize — this is a forgiveness corsage.

You reach your snout upwards to touch it with his, ignoring his surprise. “Oh, thank you, Snufkin,” you say warmly, your heart swelling enough to pound through your whole frame. You feel alight with relief and love and such warm, happy things. “This is lovely. I’ll have Mamma clean them and place these on the windowsill.”

Snufkin pauses, and then smiles, returning your affections with a nod, before he trods off again to do whomever knows what.

You’re frozen with a goofy grin plastered on your face as you hold out your new gift to Snorkmaiden. “Look!”

“Yes yes, very nice, congratulations,” she waves off your smitten demeanor as she reaches for the vial and pops off the cap, releasing a wafting scent of floral through the breeze.

An idea sprouts into being, here. You lock your gaze onto Snorkmaiden’s bottle as she splashes some of the liquid onto the insides of her wrist, and then you say, “Floren, may I ask you for a favor?”

-

You meet up with Snufkin a week later, having tried and failed many a times at the Snork’s house, plastering their residence with sweet-smelling air before you were finally able to achieve your goal: a tiny bottle that you can shelter in your palm.

Ever-collected with your words, you explain, “I-I planned to give this to you before you went off for winter, but— Snorkmaiden said it would expire by then, and…w-well, I also just wanted to give it to you now.”

Snufkin gives you a curious gaze. "Alright?”

You hand off the vial with a trembling paw, and he considers it. You can tell by how he studies and twists it around that he doesn’t truly understand.

“It’s, uhh…perfume!” you say. “I know that you keep the flowers away, and they kind of lose their luster from being pressed down in the pages, so…I wanted you to at least remember the scents of the valley, when you’re gone. A-and…it’s, uh, made of the same flowers that I’ve given you! Like violet, and I can make you one with mint if you’d like later.

“Plus,” you lean in with a playful wink, “Mamma might let up on giving you baths if you smell nice.”

Snufkin’s eyes gleam. He asks for assistance in popping off the bottle, and you dab some of the fragrance on his wrist to give it a tryout. He sniffs, tentatively.

“Do you…like it?”

He seals away the vial in one of his pockets before delving into your arms for a hug, which you gladly offer him. A purr resounds from his stomach and it tickles your chest; he gives a laugh. “I guess you can see that I do.”

You part and Snufkin still resides in your hold; he’s beaming, and his hat is nearly falling off his forehead so you can see his freckles and peach fuzz in the morning glow. “Moomin, you really are something else.”

In the warmest fragments of your partner’s bedside confessions, does he ever look so open and pleased. Like he could shout your love to the heavens and make the gods jealous.

He leads you out to pick more flowers for his hat the next day, and the next, and the next. And you grin like a buffoon when he’s complimented on how good he smells, with a thumbs-up from Snorkmaiden if she’s present.

-

(It’s hard to explain precisely to Snufkin why exactly there’s a dead mouse tied to the brim of his cap, and harder to pinpoint at what date was it planted there.

You shout up the stairs with booming irritation, and you hear Little My cackling from your room.)

**Author's Note:**

> daisy — innocence, playfulness  
> pansy — you occupy my thoughts, same-sex attraction  
> violet (purple) — thoughts are occupied with love  
> dandelion — happiness, promises faithfulness
> 
> straw —unity  
> cyclamen — sincere love, tenderness  
> persimmon — bury me admist nature's beauties  
> mint — virtue  
> primrose — young love  
> clover (white) — think of me  
> juniper — i live for thee  
> periwinkle — remembrance of early friendship  
> pine —longevity, you are perfect
> 
> nettle — cruelty, slander  
> geranium — stupidity  
> bluebell — constancy
> 
> snapdragon — cordial, graciousness  
> hyacinth (blue) — sincerity  
> (paired together, this would indicate that the giver is apologizing)
> 
> daffodil — new beginnings, rebirth  
> olive — peace  
> yarrow — to heal a wounded heart


End file.
